by Max Speed
The bright warrior star-the meteor
Climbing forever up a rainbow reputation.
At his hands, at his feet are angels one-five at angels one-five.
Their singing unravels death's mysteries and its stillness,
Causes the dead to wake, to swarm like bees
Outnumbering all the living.
Their waking voices gasp and echo in Heaven's pyramid hives.
Some spill into its cavernous, rumouring streets,
Death's if-onlys and its might-have-beens.
Some, the more restless dead, sit astride Heaven's
Terra cotta rooftops, its Chinese warrior horses.
They stare upwards at Heaven's runway,
Unrolling like a famous tongue to meet him
From Sirius to Polaris, their hands sway like anemones
On coral reefs. They lift their children so he can see them:
So many dead.
So many dead.
~
Copyright © 2010 - Max Speed
Published: 4/22/10 · Author's Page · Next Poem